


Santa isn't real. Is he?

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [12]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mistletoe, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: Wade wakes up to find Peter assembling toys.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054064
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	Santa isn't real. Is he?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anabonnana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabonnana/gifts).



> I'm sorry. I know this is late; I just kind of collapsed. Please enjoy?

Wade’s eyes popped open as something clattered in his kitchen. Normally he would just roll over, since any would-be burglar would learn better than to rob _him_ , especially after the traps activated. Only he had company, so the traps weren’t active. And, he had company. Couldn’t let anything happen to her.

He rolled over and got out of bed silently, grabbing his pillow gun on the way. Moving as quietly as he knew how, he made his way through the room and carefully eased the door open. He could hear the almost loud sounds of someone trying to do something noisy quietly.

Who was doing what, and what were they doing in his apartment?

Wade  crept down the hall towards the—brightly lit living room? He  _knew_ it hadn’t been well lit when he went to bed. What was the intruder  _doing_ ?

Wade darted out and pointed the gun at the intruder, ready to fire—

“Wade,” Peter said, “put that gun away and hand me the medium socket wrench, would you? I can’t get a good grip on this thing; my fingers are at the wrong angles.”

Wade blinked in the sparkly lights of the Christmas tree.  A Christmas tree? There hadn’t been one there before he went to bed. He knew, because he’d had a long discussion with Ellie about whether or not they needed one. (Her final verdict had been ‘no,’ so they didn’t have one.) There were three stockings leaning against the wall. One had his name, one had Ellie’s name, and one had Peter’s name. There were presents heaped under the tree. Peter was at work putting together a child-sized bicycle.

“Petey-Pie,” Wade said grimly as he looked around, “I know you can’t afford this.” Peter could barely afford a loaf of bread. (Not that he had to, what with Wade stocking his fridge whenever he could.)

“Not from me, from Santa,” said Peter as he blindly reached behind him. Wade quickly handed him the wrench in question.

“Stark?” asked Wade. If it was Stark, Wade was impressed at how low-key everything was. He hadn’t thought the man had it in him.

“No, not Tony. Santa.” Peter quickly tightened the whatever he had to tighten and put the bike up, making sure it leaned against its kickstand. He also reached into a red velvet bag, pulled out a large bow the size of his head, and stuck it on the bike before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“Santa.” Wade wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Because, well, everyone knew that Santa wasn’t real—but anything could happen in a world with literal gods. 

“Yeah.” Peter turned to look at him and grinned. “We help out every year. Normally, you don’t get a visit, but you’ve got a special guest this year and she’s been very good.”

“I’ve been trying to be good,” Wade said with a pout as he tried to figure out how Peter had known that Ellie was visiting. Oh, wait. It wasn’t Peter. It was “Santa.” Well, how had _he_ known that Ellie was visiting?

Peter snorted. “Yeah, but your first Christmas after your mutation you violently killed the elves who were supposed to set you up with Christmas and no one wanted to risk setting you off again. The only reason you got a visit this year is because I know you, and I know you’ve been doing much better.”

Peter turned to look at him and his eyes softened. Then they drifted upwards and he grinned. “Oh, would you look at that? You’re standing under the mistletoe.”

“I am?” Wade looked up. Sure enough, there was a twig of mistletoe pinned to his ceiling, by what looked like an army combat knife, right over his head. He turned and smirked at Peter. “I am. We should probably kiss. I mean, so as not to anger the Christmas gods.”

Peter’s grin softened. “Of course not,” he said he got closer. He wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck and gave him a peck on the lips. “Can’t anger the Christmas gods.” They kissed a bit more.

There was a rustle, a chuckle, and then an odd sound, like what glitter would make if it spoke. Wade broke the kiss to look around. Nothing  _seemed_ different—except the red velvet bag was mysteriously gone. “What the—where’d the bag go?” Wade asked in confusion.

Peter didn’t even look. “ Santa probably took it back.”

“Santa?”

“Toys!” The two of them turned to see Wade’s guest, the little girl Ellie (he still didn’t believe he was really her father, but she was so precious that he wasn’t arguing) staring at the goodies around the apartment. Her bright, shining eyes turned to Wade as she gestured. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here!”

Both adults laughed as she darted forward and began pulling out presents. Peter went over to help her on the bike—just her size—and something out the window caught Wade’s eye. He looked over to see a fat white man in a red suit with a beard looking in, small smile on his face. Before Wade could freak out over the stranger on his fire escape, the man winked, touched the side of his nose—and vanished.


End file.
